


why are you calling? ;; roger taylor

by taylorsroger (buckyrogers)



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drinking, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 12:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18917119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckyrogers/pseuds/taylorsroger
Summary: The reader is incapable of making alright decisions when she’s in love with Roger.





	why are you calling? ;; roger taylor

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not sure how this writing turned out. I admit it’s not my best work, but I just needed to get something out! Honestly, it’s a mess… But, here we are! I’ll maybe write a second part, but who knows? Or I’ll end up deleting this and pretend it never happened. Inspired by Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High by Arctic Monkeys!

The dimly lit stage emanated quite a saddening vibe now that the band had disappeared through the wooden back door as people still asked for an encore whistling and clapping vigorously. The instruments blazed under the yellowish lights, silently waiting to be removed from the stage.

The soft buzz of laughter and conversation reached your ears as people slowly reached the bar to ask for beer bottles. Your lips bore a satisfied smile as you chugged the last drops of beer in the bottle held tight between your sweaty fingers. Abandoning the glass bottle on the nearest table your arms were able to reach, you carefully pushed past the mass of sweaty bodies surrounding you. Feet aching with every step, as soon as you reached the grayish corridors of the Chemistry building, you gladly got rid of your black platform shoes.

“Oh...” you whispered as your feet touched the cold floor, sighing in relief.

Holding the shoe straps between your fingers, you proceeded towards the back of the building, where the band usually gathered after gigs, to meet Freddie. People gathered in front of classrooms and lockers, happily chatting. There were some old Smile posters on the walls, most of them read _“Don't forget to Smile!”_. A couple of weeks prior, Tim had left the band, but, up to that moment, no one had actually bothered to get the posters removed. Nevertheless, some of them had been scribbled and strangely read _“Don't forget to Queen!”_.

Your feet touched the asphalt, which quickly caused you to avert your eyes down to see the wet ground blazing under the tall yellowish campus lamps.

“I thought you had gotten lost, love,” Freddie's voice reached your ears.

“Freddie Bulsara, look at this!” you exclaimed, a smile plastered to your lips as your hands pointed to the wet ground beneath your feet. “The stars are crying tonight because of your marvelous voice! God, what a gig!”

“Don't be silly,” he shyly answered as your arms tightly embraced him, pressing his body against yours. His sweaty lips pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Thank you for coming, dear.”

“I would never miss seeing you on that stage, you know that, Freddie,” you returned his loving gesture and pressed your lips to his cheek as your fingers entangled with his. “ _Never._ ”

“Was it just Freddie, really, YN?” Brian's voice spoke from behind your figure. A fake hurt tone extremely evident in his voice, it was almost comical.

“Brian!”

His open arms waited to embrace you in a tight hug as he pressed his lips together in a thin line and furrowed his eyebrows, clearly waiting for a compliment. You laughed slightly, pacing towards him and letting his arms engulf you in a tight hug. 

Roger shut his angelic blue eyes, abandoning, at the back of the van, the empty beer bottle he had been idly holding for over an hour. His head rested heavily against the cold metal of the vehicle and his legs swung slightly by the open rear door. The tingling of the glass reached his ears as the bottle rolled over, causing him to wince at the loud noise that reached his ears. His blurred surroundings caused him to feel nauseous. He wished he hadn't alcohol pumping through his veins. _Not again._

But, honestly, he couldn't help himself. Not when he had noticed you earlier at the gig. Not when your body moved to the beat of his drums, eyes closed in a daze in the middle of the crowd. Not when he was constantly on the cusp of trying to admit his feelings for you. Not when he pictured his lips pressed against yours as your hands softly pulled at his long strands of hair. _God._

“Rog?”

Roger slowly opened his eyes, confusedly blinking. His surroundings spun rapidly and he moaned in annoyance. He wished he hadn’t alcohol pumping through his veins. The voice sounded distant, even muffled, as though someone screamed underwater for him. _Wait._ Was he underwater?

“Roger?”

He closed his eyes once again. He _wasn’t_ underwater.  His name repeatedly echoed inside of his mind while he opened his eyes once again. He observed his blurred surroundings. The whitish-grey smoke from people’s cigarettes lazily rose up in the night air.

“Earth to Roger!”

“Fucking shut up,” Roger mumbled, pressing the heel of his palms against his eyes. The muffled noise of laughter and conversation reached his ears. _Wait._ Adrenaline caused him to freeze against the cold metal of the vehicle. He swore he distantly heard your soft laughter.

No. Why would you bother to reach the back of the building to meet the band? In fact, after every gig, you met the band at the back of the building. Being Freddie’s best friend had its privileges. Nevertheless, Roger convinced himself he would never be worthy of attention.

Brian furrowed his eyebrows. “Oh, come on.”

“This isn’t the appropriate moment for one of your lectures on how I should stop drinking that much, alright?” Roger angrily spat at Brian. “I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“Cut the bullshit, yeah? We’re getting more beer. Are you coming?”

“No.”

“See? Why would I waste my time on lecturing you?” Brian uttered nonchalantly. Roger’s face became stonier with every word leaving Brian’s lips; his voice rang in the blond-haired boy’s ears, causing his head to sharply throb at the noise. “You know where to find us, Rog.”

Roger wearily sighed, silently observing his calloused and slightly dirty palms from holding the drum sticks in his sweaty hands for over an hour. He withheld his emotions for himself by nervously chewing on his lips as Brian eventually stepped backwards, brows furrowed at his friend’s behavior. You left with Freddie and Brian still carrying your shoes, its straps tightly held between your fingers.

Freddie’s arm rested over your shoulders, pulling you towards his body as you both, along with Brian, entered the building. People would occasionally congratulate the boys, gleeful smiles plastered to their lips. The quietness of the pub soothed your agitated body; the buzz of conversation reached your ears once again. Instead of sweaty bodies pressed against each other, most of the tables had been occupied, were students happily chatted.

“What are the plans for the band? I mean, people love you, yeah? And _Queen_? It suits you.” you spoke up as the three of you reached the bar stools, Brian asking one of the bartenders for three bottles of beer.

“We need a bassist,” Brian promptly answered, elbows digging into the wooden surface of the bar. “Do you know how difficult it is to find a bassist in London?”

“Come on, it mustn’t be that difficult.”

“Oh, Brian, don’t be so dramatic,” Freddie scoffed, chugging at the beer bottle in his hands, to what Brian rolled his eyes. “There are plenty of them out there. We just need the right one.”

Nodding at Freddie’s words, you quietly averted your eyes to the beer bottle propped on the bar surface. Brian happily chatted with a freshman student, who had to muster every ounce of boldness in his body to step towards the curly-haired boy, about guitar improvisations.

Your fingers absentmindedly drew patterns at the glass, the condensed water turning into big droplets under your skin. Roger had been awkwardly distant from the three of you. Well, at least, distant from you. 

“W-What’s wrong with Roger, Fred?”

“What do you mean?” Freddie asked, averting his curious gaze at your features while he shifted on the bar stool in order to face you, his knees slightly bumping against yours. Your heartbeat increased tenfold. What an obvious way to admit you were in love with one of Freddie’s best friends. Shit.

A nervous laugh escaped from you lips. “Are you telling me he’s not at all looking distinctly careworn tonight? Well, not only tonight. I noticed he’s been acting rather distant. Make sure he’s alright, yeah?”

Freddie quickly nodded, before taking a long last sip from the bottle in his hand. His dark eyes bore into your soul, ripping every single layer you had built around your feelings for Roger in order to hide them from him. Actually, it had been a failed attempt to hide them from yourself, but you would never admit it.

Your surroundings were eerily quiet. Fewer people occupied the wooden tables, eventually reaching the bar to ask for any last drink before leaving. The freezing night air bounced off the walls every time the heavy wooden door was opened, causing your body to violently shiver.

The last hour had been spent listening to Freddie and Brian ramble about infinite subjects, ranging from their excitement about recording an album and the madness of feeling empowered to write a song to the stars shining above. Your head rested on the heel of one of hands and the other played with an empty beer bottle. The quiet atmosphere was so pleasing it made you feel drowsy.

“Sleeping Beauty’s sitting right in front of me,” Freddie mumbled against your skin, pressing a caring kiss to your jawline.

“I’m sorry, Fred,” you mumbled against the palm of your hand, slurred words falling from your lips. “Guess I’ve been awake for almost a day now. You know, I woke up in the middle of the night in order to finish this unfinishable essay. At least I spent an hour watching the sunrise from the dormitory roof.”

“Let’s get you to your room,”

Nodding vigorously, you carefully descended from the bar stool, reaching for Brian’s hands and he pulled you against his body while Freddie called it a night, politely thanking the bartenders. The pale moon seemed to be a sole diamond fluctuating in the deep blue night sky above your head as your feet touched the cold asphalt of the sidewalk.

Pulling at the heavy wooden door of your dormitory building, you waved Freddie and Brian a last goodbye. The warmth of the entrance hall engulfed your aching body and a shiver shot through your body.

Slowly ascending the stairs, you silently observed the dark wooden doors of each dormitory, whispering their numbers as you crossed the infinite corridor. Your shoes tangled against each other, dangling from your fingers. You reached into one of your overcoat pockets in order to grab your dormitory key, sighing in relief when you closed the door. Resting against it, you abandoned your shoes by the carpeted floor and staggered forward, deeper into the room.

“Are you alive?” your roommate’s voice echoed around the quiet room, the hint of sarcasm evident in her voice. She stepped into the small living room, resting her body against the doorframe, a book in her hands. “Honestly, I thought I had gotten rid of your annoying ass tonight, but here you are.”

“Oh, shut up,” you rolled your eyes at her as a drowsy smile reached your lips. “You wouldn’t last a day without me.”

“Are you sure?” she slightly squinted at you, letting a dry laugh escape from her lips while your body collapsed against the dark green sofa pillows. “Let’s see... I’ve just spent twenty-two hours and seventeen minutes without you. I guess it’s enough.”

You nodded before your mind could properly understand her words, eyes closed and body curled up against the pillows. “See you tomorrow, love.”

The moonlight invaded the now dark dormitory. You snored quietly, lips partly open and blanket draped over your tired body. A sudden ring dragged you back to reality as your eyes shot open, adrenaline exploding through your veins.

“Fuck!” your roommate exhaled from her bedroom, anger boiling inside her body from being woken up after merely sleeping for half an hour. “Fucking turn this shitty alarm clock off or I’m throwing it out of the bloody window! YN, are you dead?”

You blinked repeatedly before vigorously shaking your head only to notice the ringing came from your bedroom, its sound reverberating through the whole dormitory. The whole building must have been woken up. Your roommate threatened the entire galaxy while you lazily pulled your body towards the other side of the living room in order to reach your bedroom. The alarm clock stood by the edge of the bedside table, ringing louder.

Damn it, you had completely forgotten to turn it off before leaving early in the morning. Quickly pressing any button your sleepy fingers could reach, silence engulfed your body and you pressed your hands against your face. “I’m sorry!”

“I hope you are, YN!”

“It won’t happen again, I promise!”

Returning to the living room, you pulled the blanket from where it lay on the wooden floor. Exhaling, your tired gazed rested on the telephone table by the corner of the living room. Should you, though? No. What a _ridiculous_ idea. The clock hanging by the wall showed half past four in the morning. Why would you call _him_ , by the way?

Brushing off the sudden need to call _him_ , you pulled the blanket over your body after lying down on the sofa on the same spot you had let your body collapse a few hours prior. Closing your eyes, the image of Roger sitting alone at the back of the van invaded your mind. His legs swayed slightly as he abandoned the bottle in his hands.

“He’s alright...” you whispered to yourself, trying to convince your stubborn mind of it.

But it was useless. Soon enough, your body was falling limp against the armchair by the telephone table. Your fingers quickly slid through the numbers, pressing the headset against your ear and pulling at the coil cord.

“Hello? W-Who’s is this?” Roger’s voice rang from the speaker end. Confusion and drowsiness clearly mixed together as he tried to work out the words in his mind, his messy blond locks framed his features in an angelical way.

The raspy tone of his voice caused shivers to slightly shake your body. You closed your eyes; a sharp intake of breath filled your lungs as your thoughts wandered to places you fought to forget. Images of Roger’s lips against yours, hands eagerly roaming through your body, flashed through your mind, followed by the image of a cigarette pressed in between his lips as his skilled hands pushed the drumsticks against the cymbals. Droplets of sweat slowly running down his neck as he pursed his lips and closed eyes, head throw back in pure ecstasy from the music surrounding him. _Fuck._

Silence.

“I can hear you breathing.”

Breath caught in your throat, your anxious gaze averted to the clock again. You absentmindedly watched the second hand rapidly move over the surface of the clock nervously gripping the headset and breathing slightly uneven.

“Hello?”

Mad at yourself, you scoffed at the headset and pushed it against the hook mechanism. Why did you ever consider calling him? Exhaling in nervousness, you let your body sink into the soft pillows of the armchair. God, why? What a _ridiculous_ idea.

The telephone silently begged for a call, which caused you to turn your back to it as though that would magically solve the issue. Squeezing the soft fabric of the blanket, you, irritated, pulled it against your body, shielding it from any invitations from the machine.

“God, YN!” you mumbled to yourself, anger boiling inside your veins.

You pulled the headset frim the hook mechanism, letting your fingers slide through the known number. Roger was quicker to answer, a hint of impatience noticeable in his tone. “I hope you do know what time it is.”

“H-Half past four, Rog,” you whispered to the microphone end, heart racing inexplicably. Why were you calling him?

“YN? Is that you?” Roger uttered confused. Was he suffering from the effects of the alcohol still pumping through his veins? No. He would never mistake your voice. _Ever._ “Are you alright?”

“Y-Yeah,” you exhaled nervously. “I should ask you the same.”

“What do you mean?” Roger nervously gulped.

“You’ve been... Hm, distant lately. Is it because of something I’ve done? Honestly, I’ve searched my mind and there’s nothing, Rog.”

Silence.

A nervous laugh escaped from your lips at the lack of an answer. What a ridiculous idea. Why would Roger ever confide in you if he ever had any issue when he shared a flat with his best friend? Honestly, the situation couldn’t be worse.

“I-I’m sorry. This was a mistake. A huge one. God, I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Stay,” Roger promptly answered as he dragged his body from under the blanket covering his body. He partially sat over his pillow, heart racing at your words. There was something trapped in your throat and he silently begged for it.

You gulped at the single word, biting your lips. God, why was it so hard to admit? Why would you ever call him in the middle of night in order to solely ask if he was alright? “Okay.”

“Why are you calling, YN?” he hesitantly asked, anxiously gripping the headset.

Anticipation filled your body, which caused you to shallowly breathe into the microphone end and to press the headset against you ear until a burning sensation suddenly appeared. An uncomfortable sensation filled the pit of your stomach due to the nervousness. The only thing holding you back was the fact that you were afraid of how Roger would react.

Silence.

“I-I... I care about you, Rog,” you whispered, almost inaudible, the words cascaded out of lips. “A lot.”

“Fuck, YN...” Roger mumbled to himself in a failed attempt to deny the truth your words carried. Was it the alcohol? His surroundings spun rapidly as your words echoed in his mind louder at each passing second.

Your fingers anxiously rested over your lips as though preventing any more words from falling out of them. His breathing reached your ears. For a minute, your mind was focused on listening to the silence, desperately searching for any meaning in it.

“That’s why I called,” you quietly admitted.


End file.
